Clopin's Rather Unfavorable Day
by Nicole Lavoie
Summary: Clopin, of Disney's Huchback of Notre-Dame fame, has an awful day consisting of fat bullies and inebriation. A little old ... I wrote this back in 1997, but still a little funny.


Clopin's Rather Unfavorable Day

Clopin's Rather Unfavorable Day  
Nicole Lavoie

Clopin, noble King of the Gypsies, finished his story of valuable morals. Pleased with his performance, his audience clapped loudly. Still inside the puppet stage, Clopin removed his hat and bowed graciously to the crowd, flashing a warm smile of thanks. Then he humbly retreated to the work of packing away his hand-made puppets one by one. 

Clopin, grand as he was, could never escape the critic. Even Tom Hanks can't escape the critics. And the critics will start criticizing my story if it doesn't move on. Well, the critics could never find much to criticize Clopin about ... except for his outfit. It was amazing. Bold colours and bells were the main thing, and also, there were the tights. Purple down one leg and yellow and purple stripped down the other. The Critics were jealous. Clopin had it all. 

A man of large proportions was Clopin's favorite critic - or was that Clopin was the large man's favorite person to criticize?Either way, the fat man decided it was a very good day to boost his self-esteem by picking on the gypsies. 

"Hello, King of Gypsies," the fat man taunted him, bowing sarcastically. 

"Hello, fat man," Clopin replied, not blinking an eye nor looking up from his work. 

The fat man became slightly annoyed at having failed at his attempt to anger Clopin. 

"How's your kingdom?" Fat Man asked, still sarcastic. "And your subjects,_ your Majesty_?" 

"Oh, just fine, thank you," Clopin said, still not showing any sign of annoyance. In reality he wanted to let his puppet beat this man over the head many times with a large wooden stick, but his cleverness got the better of him. [Dang!] 

Fat Man was trying to think of yet another brilliant sentence in his attempt to shake Clopin. But The King shook him first. 

"Pardon me, Monsieur Bafoon" Clopin addressed him, straightening up and facing Fat Man. "You are standing in my sunlight." 

Fat Man glared at him. Clopin realized that Fat Man was quite a bit taller than he, and a few hundred pounds heavier, too. But The King still appeared to be un-concerned. 

"Your shadow is murder for my tan, Fat Man," Clopin said. "I would appreciate it if you would move just a little ..." Clopin began to shove Fat Man's arm in attempt to move him. The large man wouldn't not budge. 

"You're ... not ... helping ..." Clopin scolded him, shaking a finger in his face. 

Fat Man's anger was reaching quite a maturity at this point. He seized Clopin by the front of his brightly colored costume and brought him up to his eye level. 

Clopin smiled nervously at the Fat Man's displeasing mug. 

"You bother me, jester!" Fat Man shouted, shaking Clopin around like a rag doll. 

"Easy, Fat Man," Clopin warned. "Those bells were imported. And further more, I am _not_ a jester! I am a _king_! Curse your large gut! I've had enough of prejudice Frenchmen!" Clopin shook an angry fist at Fat Man, which only made him more annoyed. 

Fat Man dropped Clopin on the ground, something that wasn't pleasant at all. Clopin was about to rise and see to his pained backside, when he heard Fat Man chuckling evilly above him. 

Clopin looked up to see Fat Man glaring down at him, and knew all at once what he was planning to do. But being the clever gypsy that he was, Clopin rolled out of the way just before Fat Man sat on him. 

"Ha!" Clopin laughed triumphantly, standing. Pleased with his quick thinking, Clopin flashed Fat Man a smile. 

"Scoundrel!" Fat Man shouted, struggling to get up. 

Clopin danced around out of reach as Fat Man tried to catch him. Clopin took a few seconds to tip his hat at the small crowd of people giggling at his cleverness. That was a mistake. Fat Man caught him by the shirtfront again. 

"Ha ha!" Fat Man shouted. He was very happy with himself. 

"Is it gypsy season already?" Clopin asked, pretending to be very scared. "Oh no," He put his hands to his cheeks. 

"_Nobody_ makes fun of me!"Fat Man exclaimed, bringing Clopin closer to his sneer. 

Clopin smiled wickedly. "Fat Man, meet Nobody!" He exclaimed, holding up Puppet. 

"What's this?!" Fat Man asked angrily. 

"Fun!" Puppet answered. "Let's see. How can we make you funner?" Puppet scratched his head. He seemed to ponder this question deeply. 

"Anything?" Clopin asked Puppet. 

"No, he's hopelessly boring," Puppet shrugged. 

"That's sad," Clopin said, Puppet nodding in agreement. 

Fat Man had had enough of Clopin and his puppet. He grabbed Puppet and pulled him off of Clopin's hand. 

"Dang!" 

"You annoy me, King of the Gypsies!" Fat Man exclaimed, throwing Puppet on the ground. 

"Hey now!" Clopin exclaimed, not happy to see his puppet lying in the dirt. "I think you should apologize to Puppet for that!" 

Fat Man didn't respond, he just glared at Clopin angrily. 

"How would you like it if you got thrown on the ground?!" Clopin asked crossly. "It's not fun." 

Fat Man stared at him like an angry bull. Clopin feared that Fat Man was going to eat him. Judging by the size of his gut, it was a logical thought. 

"My," Clopin remarked, staring at Fat Man's forehead. "What a nice set of bulging veins you have there." 

That did it for Fat Man. He stomped across the street, dragging Clopin behind him. Fat Man stopped at a large barrel of water. 

"I'm not thiirrrsstt!" Before Clopin could finish he was thrown into the barrel. When he came up from underwater, he was hit in the head with something. It was Puppet. 

"Well," Clopin muttered, lifting his soggy companion out of the water. "At least we won't have to take a bath tonight." 

Clopin pulled himself out of the water. And stomped over to where his unpacked puppets were laying on the ground. He quickly packed them up and headed toward the Court of Miracles, his funny shoes making squishy water noises all the way. 

He reached the Court of Miracles .... finally. 

"It takes so much longer when you're wet and carrying twice your weight," He muttered. Even though he had had a successful show which provided enough money for food, the later events of the morning had left their mark on Clopin, and now he just wanted to go home and take a nice, long, nap. 

As he entered the Court of Miracles, Clopin was greeted with anything but peace. Some of the gypsies laughed at their usually good-humored king, who was dripping wet with matted hair, and _anything_ but good-humored. 

Clopin carried his heavy load up the stairs to his balcony dwelling, which was quite a sight to see. He was pushing and shoving, trying to get everything up the stairs. He finally accomplished his task. As soon as he changed into dry clothes, he flopped down onto the large pile of blankets he referred to as his bed. He wished he was in his tent. It was so much nicer. Unfortunately, it was out of order. Not to point the finger, but the tent collapsed when a certain jackie-of-all-trades landed on it. The consequences of showing off, you know. At least it broke the fall, and nobody was hurt. 

Except for a few of the poles. Clopin was forced to move himself to one of the vacant balconies. 

"Miserable hole in the wall," Clopin muttered, staring at the ceiling. He rolled over and tired to go to sleep. 

Alas, it was another loud day in the Court of Miracles. For once Clopin wished everyone would stop singing, stop dancing, stop yelling, stop telling stories, and just plain shut up. Clopin knew that things were never quiet in the Court of Miracles, unless you plug your ears really tight and hide underneath 30 feet of blankets. 

So Clopin reluctantly rolled out of bed, walked unsteadily towards the stairs, and promptly fell down them, rolling out into the Court, right next to a large group of his friends, who felt the urge to laugh at him. 

"Hey, twinkle toes!" One gypsy teased him. 

Clopin stood up and sneered in his direction. When the gypsy backed down, Clopin brushed himself off and walked toward the exit. 

There truly is no respect for a king after he has fallen flat on his face. 

Clopin walked through the catacombs which lead to the outside world. He nodded to the concealed guards hiding among the bones. Not long after, his gaze met the hundreds of vacant ones from the sculls lining the walls. 

"It's not a good day for me either," He said to them. 

As Clopin gazed upon the empty eyes of the skulls, thinking of how this really _wasn't_ very cheery, he failed to see a large rock in his path, one that he had been hopping over for years. He tripped over it, sending him face down in a puddle of water. Thus, thefirst-known occurrence of the dreaded Dick Van Dyke Trip. You could almost hear the xylophone. 

After laying there for a moment and letting his location sink in, Clopin picked himself out of the puddle. He looked down at his now wet clothes and whimpered pitifully. Then he set off running in the direction of the closest exit, figuring that it would dry his clothes off better, and get him out of the Court faster. 

It did. Clopin began to feel better. He walked though the streets of the city, admiring the always-seen Notre Dame Cathedral looming above the city. He walked closer to it, thus coming upon carts of food and goods. Clopin stopped thinking about the Cathedral and began to look at different kinds of fabrics for more puppets. 

Finding nothing he wanted (or could afford) he wandered along admiring brass pots and colorful scarves. Suddenly, hunger overwhelmed him. Clopin turned around and headed toward a small food cart. 

He reached it, finding lots of fruit. Clopin looked hungrily at a pear, imagining eating it in front of Fat Man and refusing to share. He chuckled to himself as he dug into his pocket in search of money. 

When his search came up empty, he shouted in frustration, "Dang! Left my money in the other tights!" He stomped his foot on the ground. But out of the blue, a clever thought arouse. 

"Pardon me," Clopin said to the man behind the cart. "I have no money, but I am quite hungry. Can I have that pear for free?" 

The man frowned at him. Did I say clever? 

"Uhhh ... I'll pay tomorrow?" Clopin suggested. He scratched beneath his hat anxiously, smiling in a rather sorry attempt to get the pear. 

The man shook his head slowly, and then he started yelling in a language Clopin didn't understand. 

Clopin folded his arms over his chest and stared at the man, wondering what his problem was with 'buy now pay later'. 

The man continued yelling for 5 minutes, Clopin staring at him the whole time. The man ended his lecture with something that sounded like "Meatloaf, meatloaf varnish spud!" When Clopin didn't say anything, the man continued yelling "Fish resource jet!" Clopin grew tired of this man and his little language, and felt this was an opportune time to turn and walk away. 

He did so, carefully watching the ground to prevent falling, but failing to see the muscular man standing in his path. 

Clopin absent-mindedly bonked into a man, who growled at the impact, gentle as it was. 

Clopin looked up into the face of the Frenchman he bitterly called 'Modarb the Stink', a reletive of Fat Man's. They had the same IQ. 

"Trying to assassinate me, Clopin?" Modarb snarled. 

"Yeah," Clopin snapped. "With my hat." 

Although this remark was rather un-funny and hardly witty, it left Modarb scrambling for a comeback. 

"Uhhhh," Modarb stuttered. 

"Oh, good one," Clopin snickered, and proceeded to walk away. 

Modarb responded to this quite un-sportsman like. He stuck out his enormus size 18 foot, thus tripping Clopin. 

Clopin stumbled over Modarb, falling face-first into the ground. 

"Ah, ha ha!" Modarb laughed. "You ought to look where you're walking, Clopin. You tripped over my foot." 

"No, I think it was the smell that made me keel over," Clopin said automatically. 

Modarb was at a loss for words at this remark. You see, he wasn't the brightest soul in the world. Well, frankly, he wouldn't be the brightest soul in a room full of rotten bacon. Modarb wasn't raised to be witty or smart, which gave Clopin the upperhand. Modarb does only two things automatically: blink and breathe. 

Clopin picked himself up and waited for Modarb's response. Modarb was well aware of this. The pressure began to mount on him as his friends crowded in to listen to the conversation. Modarb had no idea what to do, so he threw a punch at Clopin. 

Well, Clopin ducked. "_Miiiised meee_!" He taunted. 

Modarb tried to hit Clopin again, and once more he missed. His friends began to laugh. His father began to shout things like: "C'mon son! Make yer ol' pap proud!" Modarb was under much stress. 

Clopin began to sing: _"Modarb, the man of lard, watch out, he thinks he's mean! Modarb, the man of lard, with envy of me he's green!" _

__Clopin whipped out Puppet and allowed him to smack Modarb on the head. 

"C'mon, Modarb!" His dad shouted. "Get him! You're embarrasin' me!" 

Clopin continued to sing: _"Modarb, the man of lard, his theory is to hit him!Modarb, the man of lard, wouldn't know brains if they bit him!" _

__Modarb's friends began to laugh and clap. Clopin (feeling a lot better about himself by now) flashed a smile and bowed. 

Modarb began to yell, "It's not fat, it's muscle!" 

"I'll show ya how ta do it, Mo!" His father exclaimed, pushing his son out of the way. 

"Persistent family," Clopin observed, ducking a punch. 

"Think you can outsmart my boy, eh?" Modarb's dad asked angrily. 

Clopin sighed. He shifted his weight and tapped his chin. He shifted his weight again and scratched underneath his hat. He thought very deeply. "Yes," he said finally._ _

__Modarb's dad paused for a minute and looked at Modarb. "Well ... think you can outsmart _me_?!" 

Clopin blinked. "Is this a trick question?" He shook his head. "Come on! Ask me a hard one!"_ _

__"I'll show you, gypsy!" Modarb's father yelled. He wound up what he thought would be a punishing punch, only to let it fly over Clopin's ducked head, causing him to fall forward into his opponent's arms. 

Clopin stared at him for a moment and then exclaimed, "I'd rather if you'd play hard to get!" He took a step back, which made Modarb's father fall at his feet in the position of a bow. 

"Ah, rise, servant," Clopin laughed, patting Modarb's father on the head._ _

By this time Clopin had the crowd rolling. He removed his hat and took a long bow. 

Modarb helped his father up. Once up, his father slapped him over the head. 

"Can't you do anything right?!" He shouted. 

Clopin was pleased that Modarb was getting the hard spots for once. 

Modarb's friends began to tease him until he was at the verge of tears. Then that big, strong man ran off and hid beneath a cart of manure, which he bumped his head on, and that made a small crack in the bottom of the cart. In a matter of ten seconds, Modarb was buried in manure. 

After doing more laughing than was necessary, Clopin continued his walk. He was quite pleased to have caused Modarb an inferiority complex, a mental breakdown, and a reason to bathe. 

He ambled along the streets of Paris, humming his Modarb song to himself. He took out Puppet and made him dance along to the melody. Clopin, always amused at simple things, began to dance too. He saw a lady passing by and immediately swept her up into his dance. 

"Rat!" She screamed, and smacked Clopin over the head with the bags she was carrying. 

Then she rushed off, leaving Clopin a bit confused in the street. After a few deep seconds of pondering the strange habits of the French, he shrugged and continued his walk. 

He stopped in his tracks when he had come before the Notre Dame cathedral. As always whenever he walked by, he was drawn in by it's massiveness and brilliant architecture. 

He had been inside it many times on account of taking sanctuary. For some reason, today he had an urge to go inside. After Judge Claude Frollo had fallen off it, he was happy just to gaze at the exterior, but today was different. He wanted to go in. 

Clopin walked up the steps. Then he stood frowning at the door, like it was going to insult him. He pushed it open and looked in. He was greeted by a huge room, filled with statues, stained glass windows, candles, paintings, and other things meant to be admired. 

He took a quick step, letting go of the door on accident. It slammed behind him. He dashed behind a pillar like a criminal hiding from a solder. Clopin heard no shouts, so he stepped out from behind the huge stone and proceeded through the cathedral. 

He took notice of the priest preaching to the people. 

"Hmm," Clopin thought. "Sunday. Should've known." 

Clopin saw that the priest had noticed him. He suddenly felt very out of place and, to put it bluntly, stupid. Some people began to turn around to look at this funny man in the colorful outfit. 

In a jingle of bells Clopin dashed into a door, and slammed it behind him. 

"Sanctuary," He declared to some evil presence lurking in his mind. Clopin the sinner was wary of this church that had killed Claude Frollo the sinner. Perhaps it was justice. Perhaps it was punishment. Perhaps it was weak concrete. But for any reason, Clopin's mind was churning with thoughts of his number one enemy, deceased, yet ever present. 

Clopin turned around and stared skeptically up the dark flight of stairs now in front of him. He shrugged and ran up the steps. 

The stairs led to the bell tower. It figures. Prepare for the cameo. 

"Hmmm," Clopin said. "Quasimodo has been here." He lifted a large cloak off of a chair, displaying the evidence to some imaginary jury. 

Clopin noticed a pile of wood in the corner. Bending down over it, he found many wood figurines and what was left of the cathedral and the large shops and houses around it. 

Humbly, Clopin picked up a figurine of himself, arms outstretched with King of Fools crown. Close by was a figurine of Quasimodo with a king's robe on. 

Clopin put down the miniature statues and walked toward a balcony. 

Paris came into view. 

"Oooh, pretty!" Clopin chirped in mock. He leaned over the railing and looked down on the streets below him. 

"Ah, Pheobus!" He pointed down to the solder, who of course was his mutual friend, but Clopin always thought Pheobus to be somewhat of a dork, you know, following Frollo for a time and all. 

Clopin picked up a small loose pebble from the ground and dropped it toward Pheobus. 

He laughed in delight when he heard the pebble clink off of Phoebus' helmet. Clopin ducked down before he was spotted, snickering, "I'm Pheobus. It means sun god." 

Clopin threw another pebble over. This one did not bring a pleasing "clink" but an annoyed yell from Pheobus: 

"Knock it off, peasants!" He screamed. Clopin looked over the railing to see Pheobus pointing at some gypsies passing by. 

"Peasants!" Clopin exclaimed, becoming offended. He heaved a fist-sized rock over the railing. When it smashed into Phoebus' foot, Clopin leaned over the bar and shouted, "That one's for the gypsies!!" 

Esmerelda approached Pheobus and punched him in the arm. Clopin knew they would make up later, but in the meantime he enjoyed their quarrel from above. 

A half hour droned past, and Clopin, who vowed to leave after all the people were gone, was growing board. His gaze drifted about the tower and finally landed on the bells. 

He shyly walked towards one, softly singing: 

"_Morning in Paris ... the city awakes ... to the bells ... of Notre Dame ..." _

__He gave it a small push. 

"_The fishermen fishes ... the baker man bakes ... to the bells ... of Notre Dame ..." _

__Clopin threw himself into a bell taller than he, causing it to ring. 

"_To the big bells as loud as the thunder! To the little bells soft as a psalm!" _

__He began to sing loudly as he rang bell after bell. 

Clopin ducked under the biggest bell and softy finished: 

_"And some say the soul of the city's the toll of the bells ... the bells of Notre Dame ..." _

__"My, my, I do love those echoes," He said happily with his hands on his hips. 

Meanwhile down below, the priest, having heard the bells, had dismissed the mass early. 

"First they shorten my pay," a young shoe maker muttered. "Then they shorten the mass." 

In a cameo that was only fitting, Quasimodo returned from wherever he had been, (yeah, his social calander was _packed_) to find Clopin talking to his echo beneath a bell. 

An amused smile twisted its way about Quasi's-- interesting -- face as he listened to Clopin in his peak of stupidness. He creeped over to Clopin's bell of choice and listened silently for a moment. Then, on impluse perhaps, Quasi flew underneath the bell exclaiming, "Boo!" 

Clopin let out a small screech on accident. To hide his alarm, he turned the screech into a cough, thumping his chest with his fist and telling Quasi he had a cold inbetween hacks. 

"A cold?" Quasi asked. 

"Yeah, yeah," Clopin said, turning his back to Quasi. "A cold." He squinted his eyes shut quite tight and prayed that Quasi would buy it. 

"If you say so," Quasi agreed, walking past Clopin and out to the balcony. Clopin followed him. He watched Quasimodo take a small bird out of a nest. 

Clopin sat on the railing, watching Quasi talk to the little bird. 

"Well, are you ready to fly with the other birdies today?" Quasi asked the bird. "Sure you are! You cute widdow thing! Seize the day, my little friend. If I was a bird, and I wanted to fly, this would be the day I would do it!" The little bird flew out of Quasi's hand, deeply moved by his touching speech. 

A bemused look had taken over Clopin's face. "You have such a way with words," He said, trying very hard to sound sincere. "I have to go," He declared with little emotion. He clasped his hands behind his back and walked out of the belltower, keeping his head low, eyes on the ground, fearing that if he were to stay much longer, his brain cells would begin to die. 

"Have a nice day!" Quasi called after him, lifting the next bird out of the nest and throwing it out into the open air. "Fly!" 

The ladies that had lingered behind after the morning mass turned their heads in Clopin's direction upon his entrance. He immediately thought it was because he was a gypsy, and in the church. 

He was just about to make a dash for the big door, when (this one's for you, Emily) a woman of about 22 and three quarters stepped in his path. 

"Good morning, Monsieur," She said, batting her eyelashes and tossing her hair over her shoulder. 

"Good .... morning ..." Clopin said in confusion. It came out as more of a question than a statement. 

"Bonjour," Another girl whispered to him. 

"Uh huh ..." Clopin answered, knitting his brow. This had turned into flirt fest -- and in a church too. 

"Good day, Monsieur." 

Clopin nervously tipped his hat to that lady. He noticed that all the females began to move in his general direction, like a pride of lionesses stalking their pray. The complete and utter horror. 

He quickly ran towards the door. 

As Clopin burst out of Notre-Dame, which was a lousy place to find peace and quiet, he thought of what he called his very own sanctuary (well, besides the CoM). The good old Lotta Wine Tavern and ran to it. 

Clopin sat all alone in the corner, getting ready to drink his seventh beer. Colm, the tavernkeeper, had resolved to leave him alone this day, because he was obviously in a bad mood. 

"Lucky number seven," Clopin muttered, raising his glass. 

Colm could not, however, as an old friend, stop caring about his well being - or health of the stomach, to put it bluntly. He also didn't feel like cleaning up any re-surfacing whiskey. 

Clopin's glass was snatched away without a single word by Colm and replaced with a slice of bread. 

"Damnation," Clopin muttered, scowling at the bread. "This makes my day wonderful." He was seriously considering leaving, but to waste a fine slice of bread was not Clopin's nature. Soon after the bread was crammed into his mouth, he left the tavern without paying. 

You see, Colm did _not_ have a problem with buy now, pay later. 

Clopin found himself a nice, scary little alleyway. He promptly sat on something that looked like Frollo's face and proceeded to pout about his day. For a while there, it was going just fine, but then he was chased by the women ... again. Now there he was, drunk in some horrid back alley. He pitifully curled up. 

It was about this time that he began cursing me. After all, I _am_ the author here. 

Clopin did not want to fall asleep in that place. Who knows what kind of rodent, man or animal, could come through there and see him. Alas, he soon drifted off, exhausted by the day -- or was it the liquor? In any case, he was soon sleeping. 

About a half hour later, he woke up with a start, not by his own choice. His eyelids were being steadily pried open by a pair of small hands. 

"Yep, he's sleeping, all right," Piped a small female voice. In his daze, Clopin thought he recognized it, and this thought was confirmed when his tired eyes decided to focus. 

Kneeling before him was little Pavel peering down at him. 

"Well not anymore," Grumbled Clopin. He sat up groggily and put a hand to his head. 

"You shouldn't take naps in alleyways, Clopin," Pavel remarked, watching him unsteadily rise to his feet. 

"Oh, why not?" Clopin asked, trying to play with the six year old and heal himself at the same time. 

"Because of the bugs." 

"Bugs?! Where?" Clopin asked absently. "C'mon, Pavel." 

Clopin was escorted home by the hand of little Pavel. He was safely lead around the rock and up the stairs to his temporary dwelling. Clopin flopped down on his bed and resolved to sleep. Pavel received a pat on the head before her exit, and found peace in bothering her older siblings. 

Clopin, however, could not find peace, not even in his dreams.... ooooh: 

_ _

_Clopin sits up. _

_"Where am I?" He asks nobody in immense confusion. _

_He proceeds to look around himself, but can see nothing but black and white for as far as the eye can spy. Hey, it's rhyming!! This black and white place vaguely reminds him of Paris. _

_He stands and calls, "Hellooooo?" But there is no answer. _

_Clopin is not too pleased to be here. It looks like a dramatization on the Discovery Channel. Suddenly, Clopin hears a noise. It's a bit fuzzy, but it sounds like the ringing of bells. _

_He looks up and sees a Notre-Dame more unlike the real one than the backdrop in his puppet wagon. He decides he does not like this place and is defiantly staying away from this cardboard cathedral. Unfortunately, Clopin has no control what-so-ever in this dream (like all dreams) and suddenly finds himself in the bell tower. There he sees Quasimodo. Fearing that Quasi will go into another bird-releasing phase, but not being able to turn around and go away, Clopin approaches Quasimodo. _

_The Bellringer turns around displaying a hideous facade that his terribly fake. _

_Clopin gasps. Although it is more than 400 years away, this thought still haunts him. He knows where he is. This is the earliest of moving pictures to hold le Quasimodo. _

_"Oh no!!" Clopin cries. "That means I'm--" Suddenly, there are mirrors around him, displaying the other Clopin man's face. It is horrible. _

_"Nooooooooo!" Clopin screams, falling to his knees and covering his face. _

Clopin sat up with a start. He ran his hands over his sweaty face and hair, finding his features were in perfect Trouillefou order. He breathed a sigh of relief, swearing to never drink again. Well, for a week, anyway. 

Judging from the quiet and the dark, Clopin concluded that it was night. He had landed himself a fine headache, and with much distress he found that the wet cloth he had smacked on his brow was dryer than his clothes. He also noted with much displeasure that his bucket of water had been emptied. (Clopin found this inconvenience easy to blame on -not to point the finger again- a certain jackie-of-all-trades, although it was presumably not true...) 

Clopin staggered to his curtain and pulled it back. A few lights could be seen, dimly shining through tents. Clopin came to the conclusion that he would have to go dip the lovely cloth in someone else's water. 

He made his way down the stairs carefully, wavering from time to time, but never falling. He made a happy, triumphant sound as he reached the last step, mistakenly thinking he could walk freely. He took a long, confident stride only to find that his knees did not want to cooperate with such a lengthy step. Not letting himself get discouraged, he took smaller steps until he reached the first tent. 

"Luc?" He called softly, as not to wake Luc and his wife's three horrible children. 

"Clopin?" Luc asked in confusion, pulling back the tent flap. He surveyed Clopin's rather unpleasant appearance and waited for the explanation of such a late visit. 

"Luc, can I dip this in your water?" Clopin asked, holding up his cloth. 

Luc thought this was a very odd question. Never-the-less, he took the cloth from Clopin and retreated into his tent. After stumbling around in the dim light for a few seconds, he found his bucket and dipped the cloth in. The dripping fabric was returned to Clopin promptly along with a hasty 'good night'. 

Clopin sighed happily and held the cloth to his forehead. Something was not right. Clopin brought the cloth under his nose and sniffed it. 

"Wine?!" He exclaimed, smacking his head, which really hurt, considering the headache. He had given up wine for the week, there was no way he was going to put it on his head. 

Then he remembered his sidekick-best-friend Mirage, whom he loved for one thing or another. Whichever one it was, nither had figured out yet. Mabye it was cuz they were like _this. _(Um ... imagine crossing of the fingers) 

Clopin looked over in the general direction of her tent to see if she was still up. He could just make out her tent, glowing behind a few others. He made his way to her tent flap and let himself inside. 

Clopin found her at her make-shift desk, drawing something. She looked up from drawing her whatever-it-was and addressed him. 

"Hi Clopin." 

"Mirage," Clopin smiled. "Why are you still up?" 

"Because I knew you would be staggering into my tent in the early hours carrying a lovely red thing in your hand that would drip all over my rug ..." 

"Oops." 

"Didja cut yourself or something? Blood?" Mirage asked. She caught a whiff of the wine. "By jove, Clopin. When you drink, you drink. Bleeding red wine ..." Mirage took the cloth in her hand. 

"Luc dipped it in his wine barrel rather than his water barrel," Clopin explained. 

Upon hearing Luc's name, Mirage found it an opportune time to make another boozer joke. "So Luc was in a befuddled daze also?" She asked. 

Clopin had to think about this one for a few seconds. "I'm not sure." He slumped down into her chair resolving to think about more important things, like how much his head hurt. 

Mirage poured some water into a big bowl and proceeded to wash out the cloth, looking up at Clopin from time to time in order to get a laugh. 

His eyes were slightly glazed over and bloodshot, with some ... um ... attractive bags under them. The expression on his face was a rather sick one, and he held his stomach delicately. It was apparent that he felt a little under the weather. If his head did not hurt so much, he would have been contemplating the evil idea of buy now, pay later. 

Mirage soon had the cloth washed out. It was now "nice and wet" as Clopin stated when she put it back on his forehead. 

"Now Clopin," Mirage instructed. "Go back to bed. You're going to feel even worse than you do now if you don't get more rest." 

Clopin nodded solemnly and proceeded towards the door. He wobbled and tripped over a few things but refused any help. 

"No, no, no!" He would periodically shout at Mirage. "I don't need any help! I'm fine! AH, my head!" 

Mirage finally shoved him out of the tent. He turned around and looked at her for a second. 

"I hope you don't think you're going to watch me walk home," Clopin said, a little self conscious about her caring. 

"Why burn up my mind on thinking that?" Mirage asked, raising an eyebrow.Clopin smiled and turned to go. He stopped short and whirled around, almost losing balance. "Go inside, Mira!" 

"I'm going," Mirage let out a great big sigh and rolled her eyes. 

He grinned at her. She offered a twisted smile as he turned once again. 

Mirage regained herself and called after him, "I'm _not_ watching you!!" 

Clopin looked over his shoulder and saw her disappear inside her tent. After a few seconds of watching her dim shadow sit back down at the desk, he shrugged and continued to totter his way back to his temporary dwelling. 

Clopin had managed to make it back to his bed, thinking only two things: 

"(Groan) I wish I had my tent baaaaaack" and "Oww." 

He laid down in his bed, muttering pointless things like, "Nice cloth. Nice water. Nice and wet..." as he drifted off to sleep. 

Clopin woke up feeling a smidget better the next morning. He had only a slight headache. He also had a sore throat from snoring all night. He took the cloth off of his forehead, finding that it was light pink, and had a big "M" on it. Thus, he remembered he had stolen it from Mirage during _last_ month's ... er ... episode. He fell out of bed and went to return it to Mirage. 

Since it was morning and that's when people awake, Mirage was also up. She was dressed and making her bed (or should I say: throwing the covers around until they looked relatively okay). She turned around and saw a rather unwelcomed thing crawling across her floor. 

"ACK!!! SPIDER!!!!" Mirage screamed. She handled her fear maturely ... she ran to the wall of her tent to get as far as she could from the arachnid. Mirage looked for something nice and heavy to drop on it. She found a huge book that she never read ... because it was in Latin and she was illiterate. She raised the book over her head to throw it on the spider, but a blue shoe with a bell stomped right on it before she could do anything. 

Mirage looked up at Clopin with wide eyes. He stared back at her solemnly with no expression of anything on his face. He grinded his foot into the ground a few times, then stood up straight and looked Mirage over absently. (Her weapon of death was still raised above her head.) 

"So ..." Clopin began smoothly. "How are yoooouu?" 

"Fine, fine, fine," Mirage answered. "I'm just doing a little ... reading..." 

"I see." With great ceremony, Clopin shook out the cloth and placed it on her head. "Thank you for putting up with my drunken self, have a good day." Clopin bowed seriously (or not) and walked out of the tent, remembering his pledge to quit drinking for the next week. 

Clopin continued walking (proudly, because he could do it on his own again) right out of the Court of Miracles. As his day progressed, Clopin avoided two different large men, many,many women, and disgruntled pear-selling vermin. 

The next day was equally charming, and it was towards dusk that Clopin had taken to the rooftops. He sat on someone's chimney and began to think to himself. He approached matters of great import. 

"Should I .... or shouldn't I?" He wondered aloud. His Gypsy King Brain was ticking inside of his Gypsy King Head, working out an inner conflict. "Is Clopin the kind of man to go against his most solemn vow?" After a brief moment of indecision, Clopin grinned and took off towards the Lotta Wine Taveren. 

Fin!


End file.
